Oh What A Night
by JessieJay13
Summary: Stiles comes out as bi and it's mostly fine, except for a few biphobic assholes. He has a plan though. What better way to get back at biphobes than by showing up at prom with TWO smoking hot dates? Now if only one of those dates wasn't the guy Stiles was hardcore crushing on...


**A/N: something silly and sappy that's been sitting in my docs half-finished for months, lol. finally got around to getting it done!**

* * *

Stiles did not hesitate outside Derek's door. He hesitated in the parking lot, far enough away that Derek wouldn't be able to hear his heartbeat and _know_ that he was there for ten minutes before actually coming in. After those ten minutes were up, he took a deep breath and forced himself out of the Jeep.

He barged into Derek's loft without bothering to knock, just like he usually did, and Derek didn't even bother looking up from his book. It was something in French, it looked like, which was just not fair because how _dare_ Derek be both ridiculously attractive and also fluently multilingual?

Sties did not let himself be distracted by the hot professor look Derek had going on with the French book and the steaming mug of tea and the argyle sweater, all laid out on the leather couch and soaked in sunbeams from the large wall of windows.

"Derek, my main man, I have a proposition for you."

Derek looked up then, but only to raise an eyebrow at him. When Stiles didn't break under the force of his judgment and go scurrying back from whence he came, Derek reluctantly closed his book and set it aside.

"I'm pretty sure Scott is your main man," he said lightly. "And what proposition is this?"

"How would you like to help me stick it to some bigots?"

Both Derek's eyebrows went up this time and Stiles mentally patted himself on the back for making him look so surprised. Getting any expression out of Derek Hale that wasn't judgy or unimpressed was an accomplishment and Stiles kept a running tally of how many times he managed it.

"What kind of bigots?" Derek asked with caution that was both insulting and also probably warranted considering some of Stiles' past shenanigans. "And stick it to them how exactly?"

Stiles took another deep breath and hoped his erratic heartbeat wasn't giving him away. He was _not_ going to let his awkwardness and inability to control his autonomic functions around Derek ruin his plan, not when the plan was so wonderfully petty and promised to be so very satisfying.

"Okay, so…" Stiles clapped his hands together and then held them out to the side, barely restraining the urge to do jazz hands. "I don't know if you heard, but I came out at school a few weeks ago," he said. "One seriously bisexual dude, right here, newly out and proud."

"Oh," Derek said, his beautiful face—a face worthy of a sexuality crisis, not that Stiles was ever, ever going to tell him about that—not really looking any more or less surprised than before the big revelation. "I hadn't heard," he said. "But that's good. The out and proud part, I mean," he added quickly. "Not the bigots, which are unfortunate but do make more sense with some context."

"Yeah. Overall, it's been fine," Stiles said, tucking his hands into his pockets so he didn't do something stupid like make finger guns. He had a tendency to make finger guns at inappropriate moments. "You know, most people really don't care. But some people are just naturally douchebags."

"Are they giving you trouble?" Derek asked, a frown creeping onto his face.

Stiles waved him off, then re-pocketed his hand.

"Keep the claws in, Sourwolf. I'm not getting shoved into lockers or anything. It's just like…"

Stiles chewed on his lip, fighting back the wave of irritation that always accompanied his run-ins with the douchebags.

"Like, some of them insist that I'm _actually_ gay and just too much of a coward to say it outright," he said. "Others say I'm _actually_ straight but can't get a girl to sleep me, so I thought I'd try my hand at guys instead because I'm that undesirable and desperate to get laid. I'm just indecisive and greedy and afraid of commitment. That kind of bullshit."

Derek was scowling outright now, hands fisted like he might actually pop his claws on Stiles' behalf.

"That _is_ bullshit," he said heatedly. "But what do you want me to do about it? I'm assuming you're _not_ here to get me to tear their throats out."

He looked like he might actually do it, though, if Stiles asked him to, and that warmed Stiles' cold little heart.

"Uh, no," Stiles said with a chuckle. "No, that seemed like a little much in the circumstances."

"Then how am I supposed to help you get back at them?"

"By going to prom with me."

Stiles was not surprised that this proclamation was met with silence.

"By going to...what?" Derek asked, righteous anger replaced by utter confusion.

"Prom," Stiles repeated. "My senior prom. With me. As my date. Well, as _one of_ my dates, actually."

"Dates. Plural."

"These assholes keep insisting that I have to 'pick a side,'" Stiles said, air quotes and all. "They think I can't like both women and men, or that neither women nor men could ever like _me._ I want to prove them wrong. I want to show up to prom with two dates, a boy and a girl, and rub it in all their faces that _both_ my dates are hotter than any of theirs."

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, his confidence in his brilliant plan waning ever so slightly in the face of Derek's lack of reaction. He was just kind of staring. Maybe Stiles had finally come up with something so outlandish that he _broke_ Derek. Or maybe Derek was going to clock him in the face and be horribly offended that Stiles was objectifying him or something.

"Erica already agreed to be my girl-date," Stiles told him. "She's actually really excited about it. A chance to flaunt her stuff and deliberately make a scene all night long? That's right up her alley. And you...well, you are by far the most attractive guy I know, so I just thought…"

"You want me to go to senior prom with you, just to be your arm candy?" Derek asked slowly.

Stiles cringed.

"Uh, yeah, that sounds about right. But it's for a good cause!"

There was another excruciatingly long beat of silence, and then Derek laughed. He laughed hard, head thrown back against the couch cushions, hands slapping against his knees, face scrunched up and shiny bunny teeth on full display. It was the kind of laugh that made Stiles' heart skip a beat and he was very glad Derek was too preoccupied with his amusement to notice.

"Is this a good laugh or a bad laugh?" Stiles asked.

"Good laugh," Derek choked out through continued chuckles, wiping at his streaming eyes.

"So does that mean you'll do it?"

"Yeah," Derek said, looking up at him with a smile that could stop wars. "Yeah, I'll do it. Sounds like a good time to me. And, like you said, it's definitely for a good cause."

Stiles fist-pumped, already reveling in triumph at the thought of the looks that would be on those biphobic douchebags' faces.

"I do have one condition, though." Derek said.

"Anything, dude, you're the best and I owe you, like, every favor on the planet."

Derek's smile widened, a gleam in his eye that made Stiles the tiniest bit hot under the collar.

"I get to pick your suit."

* * *

The suit was tailor-made, the sleek charcoal grey fabric clinging to every damn inch of him, and it was easily the most expensive thing Stiles' owned apart from his Jeep. It was a damn good thing Derek paid for it with his unfathomable resources, otherwise Stiles would have gone to prom in his dad's terrible old monkey suit and that would've undermined the whole thing. All three of them needed to look _fantastic._

And oh boy, did they!

Stiles' dress shirt was red and left open at the collar to show a hint of his collarbones, not bothering with a tie or bowtie. The cut of the suit made him look tall and slim and broad-shouldered and all-around nothing like the geeky freshman most of his class still thought of him as. He spent several long minutes openly admiring himself in the bathroom mirror and occasionally pinching himself to make sure it was actually _him_ looking back.

Erica, when Stiles picked her up, was a fucking _bombshell._ She was in red too, some flamenco-looking number that was skin tight to the knees and then flared out. The neck plunged sinfully low and there were cut-outs along her sides, wide swaths of smooth, tanned skin on display. Red lipstick to match, a halo of blonde curls in an elegant up-do, and she could've been on the front page of any magazine.

She looked him over from head to toe, grinning wickedly.

"God, we're so hot," she said with relish. "If I still had a crush on you, I would be dropping bricks right now."

Stiles offered her his arm.

"Your carriage awaits, my lady," he said.

"You mean that hunk of junk you love so much?" she asked, rolling her eyes but taking his arm anyway.

"Hey! It is a classic, okay, it's timeless!"

"Whatever you say, nerd. Now shut up and drive. We need to arrive at approximately 9:17pm for the optimal dramatic entrance."

Stiles snorted.

"You are spending way too much time with Lydia."

He got flicked in the ear, which was totally unfair because he was right. With Erica, Lydia, and Allison all working together? It was only a matter of time before they took over the entire world and had the rest of them squashed benevolently under their wickedly fashionable spike heels. And Stiles would probably thank them for the privilege, to be honest.

Now he just put the Jeep in drive and turned toward the school, cranking the music up loud to distract Erica from the way his heartbeat picked up every time he remembered that Derek would be waiting there to meet them.

* * *

Stiles almost fell flat on his face when he caught sight of Derek, leaning against the camaro and looking like a fucking James Bond-esque wet dream come true. His suit was black, a red cumberbund around his waist and a matching bowtie hanging around his neck because he was too damn _cool_ to bother with tying it. His hair was gelled up in the front and, jesus, all he needed was a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other and he would look like the poster child for the best kind of bad decisions.

Stiles felt a little drunk just looking at him.

Erica caught him as he tripped his way out of the Jeep, nearly ruining everything by face-planting right there in the parking lot, and hauled him onward.

"Hey there, Tall, Dark, and Handsome," Erica said, kissing Derek on the cheek. "Looking good."

"Right back at you," he said, giving her an appreciative once-over. "You are stunning, as always."

"This might just go down in history as the best plan I have ever had in my entire life," Stiles said faintly.

Both his dates gave him nearly identical smirks; like alpha, like beta, he supposed. He was struck with the sudden, desperate desire to see Derek's eyes flash crimson to match his bowtie, and the thought sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine.

"Let's make it a night to remember, then," Erica said.

She led the way to the wide double doors leading into the gym, propped open and teeming with people, towing Stiles along with her. Derek fell in on Stiles' other side, close enough to bump shoulders. The three of them paused just outside the doors, looking themselves over and making sure they all looked as flawless as possible, then Stiles mustered up the haughtiest expression he could manage and plowed his way into the gym with his head held high.

The people nearest the doors saw them first. A hush fell over the crowd there, followed almost immediately by a surge of conversation as everyone nudged the person next to them. There were even a few pointed fingers.

From the corner of his eye, Stiles could see Erica turning this way and that like she was posing for a camera, showing off every bit of herself. Derek didn't deign to posture. He just looked out over the mass of teenagers impassively, maintaining the aloof demeanor that had always made him so wildly intimidating. Stiles could practically hear the lovelorn sighs rising from every male-inclined person in the building, rivaled only by the dripping of drool from all the people panting after Erica.

Even dressed up all snazzy and looking damn good compared to how he usually did, Stiles couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit massively inadequate between the two of them. But just when he was starting to squirm under all the eyes, Derek's hand came up to rest, hot and heavy, in the small of Stiles' back.

Stiles turned to look at him and the corner of Derek's mouth twitched up just a bit. Derek nodded to their right. Stiles followed his line of sight to where one of the biggest douches of all, Terry Kingsman, was staring at him in open-mouthed disbelief. His girlfriend Linda had an orange stain all down the front of her white dress from where Terry had let his punch slip from his fingers, but he wasn't paying the slightest attention to her outrage.

It was twice as satisfying as Stiles expected it to be.

"This was a _great_ fucking plan," he said.

Erica hummed in agreement, tugging on his arm until he turned toward her instead.

"I've got a way to make it even better, though," she purred in his ear.

And then she was kissing him and, _hot damn,_ it was fan-fucking-tastic. He couldn't honestly say that he had never thought about kissing Erica before because she was a beautiful woman and he was only human, but he could honestly say that he had never thought it would actually _happen._ The fact that it was for the sake of putting on a show was a complete non-issue and he didn't mind in the least.

They broke apart to a chorus of gasps and a volley of (ironically fitting) wolf whistles. Stiles barely had time to wonder if any of Erica's lipstick had rubbed off on him before there was a hand on the back of his neck, dragging him back around the other way, and then _Derek_ was kissing him and nothing else mattered.

Apparently, Derek was not a man to be outdone. Erica's kiss had been deep and thorough and a little dirty, but Derek's was downright _obscene._ It was all Stiles could do to stay on his feet when his knees threatened to give out with every swipe of Derek's tongue and he was almost certain that Erica, pressed tight against his back with her chin hooked over his shoulder to watch the action, was actually supporting his full weight.

He was lightheaded by the time Derek released him and it took several long, hazy seconds for Stiles to realize that there was actual applause going on. When his brain came back online, he smiled out over the crowd and waved like he was on a parade float. Derek rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Not as big as Stiles was smiling, though. Stiles' face hurt with the force of his grin, and only a fraction of his elation came from the fact that Terry and Linda had stormed off in a huff and no one around them had even noticed they were gone.

Derek still had a hand on his back.

* * *

Stiles got a lot of kisses that night from a lot of people.

As soon as the three of them gave up their spotlight and found the rest of their friends, Scott was there pounding Stiles on the back hard enough to bruise, crowing about how badass that entrance was and laughing uproariously because he'd just overheard Terry getting dumped. Stiles laughed too, and he kept laughing until there was suddenly a stunningly made up Lydia in front of him, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. He sobered quickly, waiting for her judgment.

The slow, wicked smile that spread across her face was as gratifying as it was alarming.

"Petty, melodramatic, and sensational," she said crisply. "I approve."

Then, heedless of Jackson right behind her, she leaned in and kissed Stiles on the mouth. It wasn't nearly as involved as either of the kisses he'd gotten so far, but it wasn't a peck either, and Stiles was absolutely certain that if this had happened even a few months ago he would've been a gibbering mess on the floor by the time she was finished with him. Now he just stared a bit, mouth fallen open.

"I appreciate the point you're making," she told him, running her thumb along his bottom lip to clear up the smudge of lipstick. "And I do love being included in the drama."

Indeed, there were still plenty of people staring at them, and those people were now rushing off to tell all their friends that Stilinski had gotten _another_ hot person to make out with him somehow. Stiles watched them go, a little dazed, while Erica's delighted laughter sounded in his ear.

"Okay, who wants to be next?" she called. "We're officially taking turns! Everybody gets to kiss Stiles tonight!"

Stiles briefly considered protesting and then figured, what the hell? He liked kisses, and he loved his friends, and there was no reason not to share the love. So when Allison came bounding up with that huge, dimply smile on her face, he let her plant one on him.

After Allison was Isaac, who pinched Stiles in the side after because he was kind of a dick like that.

The kiss with Scott was both horrendously awkward and totally not at the same time, which surprised neither of them.

Boyd actually _dipped_ Stiles and they both almost ended up on the floor because Stiles was laughing so hard.

Danny was surprisingly eager to get a kiss from Stiles, looking him up and down like he was starting to regret dismissing Stiles' clumsy, closeted overtures. He came back from another half an hour later.

Stiles even got a kiss from _Jackson,_ but only after Danny promised him that Stiles would make it worth his time. Stiles may have put extra effort into that one, if only to make sure that Jackson didn't have any ammunition for taunting later on. The fact that Jackson came out of the kiss without an immediate complaint had Stiles feeling distinctly smug.

And of course, Erica was apparently an exhibitionist at heart, because she made sure to kiss the breath out of Stiles every time she caught someone else watching them. Stiles was pretty sure he had been kissed more times in the last two hours than he had in his entire life up to that point.

The only person Stiles didn't get a(nother) kiss from was Derek. Not that Derek avoided him or anything. He was right there at his side the whole night long, smiling and chatting and nodding along to the music like the rest of them. He even let himself be dragged onto the dance floor a few times and Stiles made sure to cement the memory of Derek's hands on his hips, Derek's chest pressed against his back, the scratch of Derek's stubble along his neck as the bass thrummed through his veins, because it was a moment he never wanted to forget.

But he didn't participate in the game the others had made of seeing who got to kiss Stiles the most. Stiles tried not to be disappointed by that. After all, Derek was just here as a favor to him, and because he hated biphobic assholes as much as the next person and got a kick out of petty revenge. But kissing had never been part of the deal. That first one had just been a freebie to rile up the crowd, and Derek didn't owe him anything past that, especially since no one was paying much attention to them by this far into the party.

It had been a few hours—a few really great hours, far better than Stiles would ever have expected from his senior prom—and Stiles was starting to lose steam. He'd danced with everyone in the group for at least two songs, drunk his weight in punch (most of it of the not spiked variety), and kissed more people than he could count. He'd lost his suit jacket somewhere along the way, but he was reasonably certain that Lydia would make sure it wasn't stolen or damaged out of respect for how fashionable and expensive it was so he wasn't too worried about that.

Winded, giddy, and a little light-headed, Stiles finally begged off on the dancing and left Erica to pout and flip her hair and demand Boyd come dance with her instead. Stiles stumbled his way through the throng of teenagers, most of whom had partaken copiously of the spiked variety of punch, until he reached the gym's side door. The air outside was blessedly cool and refreshing, helping to clear his head.

"You've got lipstick on your cheek."

The unexpected voice might've made him jump if it had come from anyone else, but it was just Derek, and it had been a long time since anything about Derek had been enough to scare Stiles. The man was leaning against the wall on the lee side of the door, one foot propped up and both hands in his pants pockets. He'd abandoned his jacket sometime too, but the bowtie was still loose around his throat. His hair was mussed, sleeves rolled up and clothes rumpled from the dancing he'd done, and he had a half-smile on his face that was too genuine to be called a smirk for once. He was unfairly beautiful.

By the time Stiles had finished processing the image before him, it occurred to him that Derek had actually said something. "What?"

Derek's smile grew and he liberated a hand from a pocket to point at Stiles' face. "You've got lipstick," he repeated. "At least three different shades, actually."

"Oh." Stiles drew the back of his hand across his cheek and came away with a smear of red and pink. When Derek chuckled, he figured he was probably only making it worse, so he resigned himself to having lip prints all over him for the rest of the night. Really, he had no problem with that.

"What're you doing out here anyway?" he asked, his lipstick-covered hand falling to the back of his neck since he couldn't put it in his pocket and knew better than to leave it free to flail. "All partied out?"

"Something like that," Derek said. "It's a little rowdy in there for my tastes. Maybe I'm getting too old for this."

Stiles snorted. "Dude, you say that like you're middle aged. You're, what, twenty-four?"

"Okay, maybe I'm just an introvert then," Derek allowed. "I've filled up my quota of social interaction for the day. What're _you_ doing out here? You looked like you were having a blast."

"Yeah, yeah, I am!" Stiles said. "Just...needed a break."

"It's exhausting, isn't it?" Derek asked solemnly. "Being in such high demand?"

Stiles made a face and shoved at his shoulder. Derek just laughed and scooted over a bit, leaving room for Stiles to lean next to him. They stood in silence for a minute, listening to the muffled pop tune from the dance on the other side of the wall and just breathing. It was comfortable, one of the rare moments where Stiles didn't feel the need to move or fidget or talk, where he could just be _still._

"I'm really glad you came," he said when there was a break in the music. "And not just because it made Terry eat his fucking words and also got him dumped, although that was pretty fantastic."

"That guy got what he deserved," Derek said. "So clearly this plan was better than most of your plans are."

"Hey! My plans are great," Stiles protested. "I'm always the guy with the plan! When have my plans not been great?"

"I plead the fifth on that," Derek said with another quiet laugh, "but I'll admit that this particular plan has been an absolute success. You definitely proved what you came here to prove."

"And what was that?" Stiles asked.

Derek turned to face him, his eyes tracing Stiles' features and lingering on the smudges of lipstick. He shrugged, head ducking. "That you can have anyone you want."

The easy lightheartedness of the moment fell away, taken over by something _else._ There was a techno bass vibrating through the wall at Stiles' back, thumping in time with his heartbeat. What little light reached them here from the streetlights in the parking lot got caught in Derek's eyelashes, limning his profile and the curve of his cheekbone, throwing half of his face into shadow.

His voice came out hoarse and low when he said, "Anyone?"

Derek looked up again, meeting his eyes directly this time. He looked almost surprised, as ridiculous as that was. He licked his lips.

"You know," he said, instead of a straight answer, "I never got to go to my senior prom. Or junior prom, for that matter."

"Was it as stupid and cheesy as you imagined?" Stiles asked.

"Yes," Derek said definitively, but he was smiling. "And twice as fun."

Stiles smiled back. "Well, then I'm doubly glad you came. I wasn't sure you would, when I asked."

"Of course I did," Derek said. "It's for such a good cause, how could I not?"

"Right, right." Stiles rubbed absently at the lipstick on his hand, bottom lip caught between his teeth, for the long moment it took to work up the courage to say: "Was that the only reason you said yes?"

Derek's hand caught hold of his, stilling the nervous motion. His palm was warm.

"No," he said simply.

Stiles waited for Derek to let go, or to make some other excuse. When he didn't, Stiles said, "You know, you're the only one who hasn't kissed me more than once tonight."

Derek's thumb rubbed a soft circle into the delicate skin of Stiles' wrist, right over his racing pulse. He said, "Once is already one more than I ever thought I'd get."

Stiles' breath caught in his throat. Before he could swallow it down, before it could burst out of him in the form of words he had no right to say yet, the door at his elbow burst open. It nearly crashed right into him, but Derek's keen reflexes let him catch hold of it before it connected.

A giggling couple came tripping out into the semi-darkness, leaning heavily on each other and heading in the direction of the parking lot. One of them almost face-planted on the sidewalk. She nearly pulled her boyfriend down with her, and then she pawed at his face in apology and called him "bae" out loud and unironically. He ignored her, pulling out his phone to call for a ride. At least, that's what Stiles assumed he was asking for, but his slurring meant his intent was kind of a toss up.

Stiles held out until the couple was out of earshot before he burst out laughing, but only barely. The sudden release of tension, the popping of the intensely intimate bubble he had spent the last few minutes occupying, was a little dizzy-making, though not in a bad way. When he'd mostly gotten a hold of himself, he turned to find Derek grinning wide enough to show off the dimples most people didn't even know he had.

The distant music switched from a top 40 hit to something slower, more of an end of the evening number. Abruptly, Stiles pushed off the wall and held out a hand to Derek, who looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Come on," Stiles said gamely, flapping his hand. "Slow-dancing is part of the quintessential prom package. As your date, it's my job to make sure you get the full experience."

"Oh?" Derek asked as he put his hand in Stiles' and let himself be tugged forward. "What about Erica? She's your date too."

Stiles shrugged, looping his arms around Derek's neck and hoping it wasn't too obvious that way that his hands were shaking a bit. "Yeah, but I danced with her plenty already. And besides, I think she's happiest when she's grinding on six guys at once, let's be honest here."

Derek snorted. "That sounds about right," he said fondly as he let Stiles spin them slowly, swaying side to side to the beat of the song. "She likes having a variety to choose from."

"And she definitely has that," Stiles said, shaking his head, half in exasperation and half in admiration. "She has _admirers._ She's got all the variety she'll ever need."

There were a few seconds of quiet, just the soft strains of what might have been an Adele song and their amateur approximation of actual dancing. Stiles had never thought he'd be one for slow-dancing—it had always struck him as sappy and boring and something old people only did because they didn't know how to actually dance—but this was something else. He was pretty sure he could live in this moment, in the circle of Derek's arms. For once, he didn't overthink. He just closed his eyes and let himself sink into it, his nose buried in dark hair, the brush of stubble against his neck.

"You do too, you know," Derek told him, his voice a rumble that Stiles could feel in his own chest from where they were pressed together. "You could have your pick. God, with the way you look tonight…"

His hold on Stiles' waist tightened, pulling him that much closer, like maybe he wanted to keep this moment as much as Stiles did. Stiles' fingers found the soft hair at the nape of Derek's neck, burying themselves there.

"I don't need a variety," Stiles said. "Derek, there's only one person I want."

Slowly, their swaying came to a stop until they were simply standing, wrapped up in each other, close enough to share heat and breath. Derek's hands spanned the width of Stiles' lower back, warm and steady. His eyes, when they pulled back enough for Stiles to see them, were bright with reflected lamplight.

"So," Derek said, drawing it out teasingly, "what else is included in that quintessential prom package of yours?"

Stiles pretended to deliberate. "Well, I think we've covered most of it. But a kiss is usually in the cards."

"We already did that," Derek pointed out.

"Once," Stiles reminded him. "And is once really enough?"

Derek's "never" was whispered against Stiles' lips, the barest of contact before he pressed forward in earnest. It was all Stiles could do to let himself be swept up in the gentle movement of Derek's lips, the warmth of his hands as they cradled Stiles' face like it was something precious. It was far from the deepest or most thorough kiss Stiles had had that night, but it was the only one that left him shaking.

They stayed that way for another long minute, leaning on each other, trading soft kisses under the growing moonlight as the dance carried on inside. Eventually Derek chuckled.

"What is it?" Stiles asked.

"The others are wondering where you ran off to," Derek told him. "Erica's complaining. Apparently she was behind in the competition and she can't make up the difference if she can't find you."

Stiles snorted. "I think they've all had enough of me for one night. The only kisses I want right now are yours."

"Really?" Derek asked. "You're sure you don't want to make the rounds one more time? I think Jackson would really appreciate anoth—"

Stiles shut him up with one more kiss.


End file.
